Comforting Feelings
by 4b4ndon3d 4ccoun7
Summary: After the Revolution, England allows America to use his body in hopes of making himself feel better. What he doesn't know is that it will turn into a continuous game; an addiction that neither man can stop. Sort of/not really angst, fluffy end. Oneshot.


**Okay, so a friend told me that it wasn't really as abrupt an ending as I thought it was. I really hope it's not...** **So anyway! I typed this up in maybe three, four hours after reading something with these two that was a bit angsty. Well, anyone who knows about my other stories would know...I'm really kind of not an angst fan, unless it's light angst with some intense, sugary, rot-your-teeth-out-sweet, cute, comfort afterwards. Fluff is my forte, and I have been dubbed by one of my RP partners as the "Queen of fluff", so that's how much I love my cute. As for this story...I have absolutely no idea what happened. OTL It's cute at the end! ...sort of. It's not angsty, exactly... Umm...enjoy..?**

**DISCLAIMER!!! (Man, I hate these things...) I don't own these guys, Himaruya-senpai does. There. That should stave off the lawyers... *Grabs two by the sleeve as the others try to amble off.* Oh, wait, wait...no. Edgeworth, Nick, you stay. *Grins.***

**((Bonus for anyone who knows who I'm talking about. I am way too addicted to those games... Why did they have to bring in Apollo and have everything ruined..?))**

* * *

I cried out his name as he thrust into me, tears trickling down my hotly flushed cheeks. My whole body burned for more of his touch, for more of that feeling... More pleasure, more lust, harder, faster...make the pain go away! I didn't want to be alone anymore. I still had Canada. He had stayed by me loyally...faithfully...but it was not enough. I had lost America, the boy I had raised from infancy. My little brother. My beloved. He had assured me that he didn't hate me. He had told me that he wasn't declaring independence for that reason, and what other choice do I have but to believe him? I know that it's true what they say; that I turn from reality and ignore the truth when it hurts me too much. It's become my self defense mechanism, my shield, and I turn to that shell whenever something doesn't go right. I still hold to the hope that America was just going through a phase. I still cling to the tiny bit of wishful thinking that tells me he'll come back. I want him to come back. I miss him already, even as he pushes in again, striking that place inside me that expels me into the throes of bliss.

"_AMERICA!!!_"

Even as he brings us to orgasm, pulling out and laying beside me. Even as he whispers my name, his voice lacking the love one should have before doing such a thing with another. And that was how it all began. We had never so much as kissed before, and here I was, drifting off to sleep beside his nude form, the sorrows of our recent past forgotten in the moment. He saw me crying. He knew I was hurt...and he took pity on me. It was his idea, having sex, and I went along with it, far too eagerly, to be sure. It had succeeded for the time being. I felt better, and I thought that maybe this was the first step in his deciding to come back to me. I was wrong. I didn't want to be wrong. No one does. And now I've fallen. That was the first time he had taken my body, telling me that it "might make me feel better", that it would prove that "he's not going to abandon me, he just doesn't want to be under my rule". He was gone when I woke up the next morning. All he left behind was a note: "Sorry to rush off, but if you need me again, you know where I'll be. -America"

I hated him. I loved him. I never wanted him to leave. I never wanted to see him again. And then, I went into war. An almost constant war, it seemed, defeating other countries, taking their territory, their land as my own, and I changed my name to "Britannica". I was now the British Empire, and no one could stand in my way! But the stresses of war brought me down, and I ended up going back to _him_, back to that damn backstabbing Yankee bastard for more "comfort". I was under stress, and I knew that he was the only one I could turn to for this without expecting any kind of catch or hitch. (With the one exception of France, of course, but I'll die before I let him touch me like that.) I don't know how, exactly, this escalated into what it has become. I go to war, I get put under stress, I turn to him. I go to battle, I lose, I turn to him. It was a continuous cycle, and then...he starts to act differently, less coordinated. I learn that he's having a war with himself, the north and south of his land killing each other, and I weep for him. He's confused, distant, in _pain,_ and I know how he feels. And then one day, there's a knock at my door, and I open it to see him, tear stained eyes and a desperate look on his face. I know what he wants, and I let him in. We reach the bedroom, and the whole thing begins again, this time with him under me, and I know that there's no end in sight. The war eventually ends, and we don't see each other for a while.

I eventually lose my status as the British Empire. I fall hard to that damned African nation, the place whose numbers were so much smaller, and I'm in a lot of emotional pain, But then _he_ comes, telling me that he heard what happened, and we do it all over again. This time, however, there's something different. I don't feel as empty, and I feel as though I enjoyed it more. I'm sad when he leaves, and I don't know why. For some reason, I just can't figure it out, even as multiple options tear through my mind. Then, I get tossed into World War 2, and I'm happy. Happy that America has decided not to fight, though I know we need his help. I'm glad he's staying out of it, because I don't want him hurt, and I feel, even as the war rages on and we plead for his assistance, that I don't want him to suffer as we have. But Japan, that bastard, attacks him anyway, as a "threat" to tell him not to enter the war. It backfires, however, and America comes out, guns blazing, suddenly very eager to fight. I didn't want it to happen, but it has, and now America has joined with us to conquer the Axis Powers.

We've decided to begin a "special relationship" between our countries, to begin again, as it were, and, to seal the pact, he takes my lips with his own, gently, lovingly. I don't pull back, and somehow, I find myself enjoying the warm lips that have taken control of my own. We're together far more than we have been in recent years, and I find that my emotions are starting to betray me, my stomach churning in a pleasant manner when I think of him, or my face catching heat when I get some kind of offhand compliment from those lips. I don't know what's wrong with me. France seems to though, and he lets me in on the "secret", even though I never once asked for his opinion. I deny it, of course, but his words do hold merit, and by the end of the war, I've realized that he was right. I can't deny that I love him any more, but now the emotion makes me feel empty again. Is there a chance that he'll feel the same? Is there a chance that we'll get a happy ending..? No. We're countries. We don't get happy endings. Our relationship during this war has done nothing but improve, and I'm truly glad for that, but how long will it be before he decides to flee from me again..? It can only be a matter of years, and we do drift apart over time, but not to the extent that we did the first time.

And now it's September, 2001. America was attacked again, senseless violence having ripped away the two tallest buildings his cities have to offer, and he comes to me again. We've become addicted to this ritual, and there's no escape now, I can easily tell, as I lead him back to bedroom again, his hand in mine. He stays with me the whole next day, and I feel guilty, because I'm suddenly happy that he was hurt. It brought him close to me again, and I hate that I feel that way, but I don't know how to stop it. The faeries assure me, once he leaves, that the guilt I feel is unnecessary, and that it's normal to want to spend time with the one you love, but they don't help, and the guilt builds up until I nearly snap. I begin to touch myself when I know no one's around, and I call his name as I do, though it's not as pleasurable as when he actually touches me.

The years go by, and as we reach present day, I hear a knock at my door. It's him again, but this time, I'm greeted with a kiss and a smile, and I place my finger tips to my burning lips, my face flushed red. He tells me that he wants to renew our "special relationship", make it stronger than before...and I smile.


End file.
